So, this is my first real story. I recommend you first read "Son of Logan" to get acquainted with the character of Gene Logan, as well as my writing style.
Huge thanks to EmeraldsAndDaggers for her help. Without her encouragement, I may not have written this at all.

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Titans, it belongs to DC Comics, and more specifically Marv Wolfman and George Perez. OCs are my own, however.

It was exactly forty-seven paces from his door to the elevator, then to the common room of the Titans Tower. If he was a cheetah, he could make the trip in twelve strides at half speed, or twenty-one hops if he chose a kangaroo. He never came up with a good reason why he decided to find out these things, but he'd made the journey in most all of his animal forms that were remotely practical. This morning, Gene Logan found his trek to the common room (in regular human form) a bit noisy as he neared the door, intent on starting his day with some waffles and grapefruit. He was greeted with the sight of a tall African-American boy with his arm held aloft, cereal box in hand, while a pint-sized hellion of a brunette was halfway to scaling the boy's body like an oak tree in an effort to grab aforementioned breakfast item.

"Come-ON, Marcus, gimme that! That's the last bowlful of it, and you know it's my favorite!"

"Only if you jump for it, Kitty. Breakfast tastes better when you work up an appetite first, y'know."

The brunette let loose a growl that sounded decidedly catlike, shot a death-glare at Marcus, but instead of clawing his arm to ribbons, leapt onto the counter with hardly any windup, and backflipped over Marcus, deftly snatching the box out of his hand before landing with all the grace of a gymnast. Marcus let "Kitty" have the victory, and they both knew he meant nothing hurtful by the game. She stuck her tongue out at him with a face, and Marcus returned to his oatmeal on the stove.

"Training isn't for another forty-five minutes, Kit, but it looks like you're ready to get to it right now," Gene remarked after witnessing the display of acrobatics by his colleague and friend.

"Kitty" rolled her wide amber eyes towards Marcus. "Marc always has to start something in the morning. It's 'cause I'm short, isn't it Marc? What do you got against the vertically challenged?" Marcus said nothing, but began humming the bars of Randy Newman's "Short People" to himself, which earned him getting pelted with a piece of cereal thrown his way, courtesy of aforementioned short person.

Kitrina "Kitty" Falcone may have been short, but anyone who would judge her by height alone was in for a rude awakening. Kitrina carried her 5'4" frame with the sinuous flow of an acrobat, but with twice the curves of any Olympian. Her shoulder length auburn hair was kept back in a braid, with a small silver bell tied at the end for flair. Such an appearance was enough to make most young men trip over themselves, and Kitrina knew it. Heck, she prided herself on her feminine wiles, a natural talent that Selina hadn't had to do much to perfect. Yes indeed, Kitrina was not only the daughter of infamous crime boss Carmine Falcone, but the protégé of one Selina Kyle, the cunning Catwoman herself. To the public, Kitrina was Catgirl, slick and stealthy heroine of the Teen Titans.

Marcus Jennings was the youngest in the Tower, but paradoxically the tallest, overtaking Gene by an inch. His towering 6'1" body was built like a football running back, broad shoulders and powerful legs thick as tree trunks. His close clipped hair was dyed white and cut high and tight, just like his Marine father had it. His chocolate brown eyes were always smiling at a private joke, and his grin was always on the verge of revealing white teeth, just like now as he musically taunted Kitrina. He finished his oatmeal on the stove, moving it to a bowl, and crossed over to the breakfast table where Kitrina sat. Instead of pulling out a chair, Marcus extended his hand, and silver energy encased his fingers and spread out underneath him, coalescing into a silver stool upon which he sat himself down. Apparently, the H'San Natall had more than a few teens imbued with the silver plasma energy than just Argent, but in Marcus' case, it took an extra generation to manifest. Marcus thanked the heavens every day that Toni had found him and took him under her tutelage when he was younger and not entirely in command of his wondrous power. She was a surrogate mother to him in the absence of his biological one. With his father constantly overseas in the Marines, Argent was a wonderful support figure to Marcus, known to the world as SilverStar.

Which left the last person in the room: Gene Logan. Heading to the freezer to grab the frozen waffles, the young Titan couldn't suppress a chuckle at Marcus' needling. "And you wonder why you're still single, Marcus." Opening the fridge to grab some grapefruit wedges, he brushed his midnight blue hair out of his eyes, identical to the emerald hue his father possessed but with flecks of violet scattered throughout. Still in his sleeping pants and T-emblazoned compression shirt, he snatched some orange juice up along with the fruit, and headed over to his friends. Food in hand, he joined his teammates at the table and dove into breakfast, trying not to disturb Kitrina's now wire-thin temper from snapping at Marcus again. Full empath he may not be, but agitated emotions had a nasty habit of making Gene a bit dizzy.

The quick whistles of a high-velocity object in frantic movement sounded behind the table, and the trio of teens cast their eyes quickly over to Scott, who had already began frying up two eggs and bacon in a skillet that seemed to have materialized from nowhere, with the overhanging pot rack's slight swaying the only indicator that anything had been removed at all. Scott West was still half-asleep however, despite his actions just a second ago—oddly enough, he moved faster when he was still in the throes of the Sandman's influence. Yawning loudly, he flashed a quick and lazy smile to the trio. "Mornin', people," was his slightly slurred greeting.

Scott West was easily the most eye-catching person in the room, or in any other setting that didn't necessitate a superhero suit for that matter. The red hair was practically a requirement at this point for any man who wore the Lightning Bolt on his chest, but his status as the Tower's resident ginger was hardly his most striking feature. Even half-closed in drowsiness, his coral pink eyes could make anyone do a double-take upon seeing them once, and the feline slits for pupils could outright stop people in their tracks if they focused on them for more than a second. Such genetics would be impossible to believe if one didn't know Scott's parentage. Sure, the red hair was a West family heritage, but only those who knew that Scott's mother was the marble-skinned, pink eyed luck sorceress known to the public as Jinx could put two and two together and deduce that he was the result when you crossed his parents' genetic streams. Such an exotic looking young man was the latest to inherit the Flash legacy, and to the citizens of Jump City he was known as Quicktime.

While Gene was making a valiant effort to ignore the carnivore cooking dead animals behind him, Kitrina decided to simmer down and pipe up first, addressing Gene. "So, birthday boy…the big 1-8 today. How's it feel to be the old man in the Tower?" Her question was laced with a warm sense of mischief, and Gene suddenly felt pinned by those wide, feline-esque amber orbs. Forcing the red on his cheeks back down under his skin, he smiled back and shrugged noncommittally, downing a sip of OJ. "As long as my dad keeps his enthusiasm curbed and doesn't do anything stupendously obnoxious," like always, Gene added mentally, "I shall quietly enjoy the fact that the Earth has once again successfully navigated another full revolution around the Sun. I honestly thought it might careen into the big fireball this year, but gosh darn it, if it wasn't the Little Planet That Could all over again." His dry quip earned a sleepy chuckle from Scott, who was just now setting down his offending (to Gene, at least) breakfast at the table to join the team.

"At least you haven't lost that fine sense of humor on this most auspicious of days," Kitrina offered. "Are you sure you're your father's son? 'Cause that guy is as funny as a heart attack. I guess you're blessed with your mom's wit, then."

Gene grinned, letting a lengthened canine peek through his lips at the thought of watching his dad try with limited success to crack a joke witty enough for his mom to even snicker at. And thank Azar for that blessing, too. How has my mom withstood that onslaught for all these years? The rest of the meal was spent in companionable silence as four high-energy teens cranked up for another day of being heroes.